Twisted Corridors
by raventeller
Summary: Carl is having a dream. The dream. The same dream, he has had for many tyears. Theres something in the back of his mind, which he cannot remember. His mind is trying to keep it that way. But why is he having this dream? Yes, another pointless one-shot!


Carl wandered many corridors. Where was he going? He had no idea, but something was urging him, it was crying out to him begging him to help.

_Twisted Corridors._

Carl was a friar, in fact, not a very good one, but he would never ignore a cry for help, a sinner or a lost child. It was just something that made him weak. But this was the first time something had taken effect on him so strongly. It was like a force, pulling him, towards to light.

_Twisted Corridors._

He had had this dream before. He always remembered at the beginning, that he was supposed to look for someone. Something. It always cried out to him in, a voice of a child, crying. He couldnt just ignore this, it was urgent.

_Twisted Corridors._

It always started out the same, he would be out reading, under a willow tree next t a lake on a sunny day. Strange thing was, he remembered he had been there before, but he couldnt remember when. It always started this way. It was a nameless book, he isnt evne really reading it. He is more lost in thought, trying to think back to when he had been here, but he could never remember.

_Twisted Corridors._

Then the sun would disapear, and he would look up to see a tall dark castle. The window shutters hanging off, the bricks crumbling away, the garden dying and the roof falling in. Nobody in the right mind would ever go in, but something cried out to him, nothing you could hear, just something told him he had to go in. So he would leave the lake to go into the castle.

_Twisted Corridors._

He never did think, ''How did it get there?'' Like any other person, all he could think of was,

''There's somebody in there that needs me!''

He would corss the dying garden and open the creaking door and step inside. He wouldn't take in the torn pastry's or cobwebs haging off the ceiling, all he would think of is the lullaby tune. Yes. A lullaby. It was coming from down the end of the corridor. The un-lit corridor. He wouldn't think twice about it, he would wander down the corridor, following the sweet lullaby.

_Twisted Corridors._

The lullaby somehow would call out to him, beconning him to go further down. It would grow louder, for a few seconds then go silent again. It would always play again. Then came the stairs. As a child, Carl had always been frightened of stairs, a child fear. His mother had always told him to be careful on the stairs, not to step on any cracks or faulty ones that could fall threw, or the devil would reach out and grab his foot and take him to Childrens Limbo, the hell of which children would enter. He never knew why his mother had told him this, and when he grew older he knew it was just a silly old wives-tale, but he had always been careful on the stairs, just in case. That story had stuck to him like glue.

_Twisted Corridors._

Carl would then be careful, not to thread on any faulty steps, and climb the stairs. The lullaby that sounded so familiars, faded. Everything in the house went silent. Then, he would hear a child, that's voice sounded though he had heard it somewhere before, crying. Carl would realise this cry was urgent and hurt. Carl would run down corridors, in search of the child. Of coarse, in the dream, he never found the child.

_Twisted Corridors._

He would find something else. That would haunt his mind forever more.

_Twisted Corridors._

Then there would come the worst part of the dream.

_Twsited Corridors._

He would open the door of where he had heard everything and there infront of him was-

Then he would wake up.

Something haunted his dreams, which he could not picture. Something.

Maybe it was not a dream. Maybe not. But he knew one thing, that he could never rememeber whilst having this dream, was the house, in which he heard the lullaby and the crying and ran down the long corridors and climnbed the stairs was-.

The house he grew up in.

But he could never venture back there. Because he knew.

Because he knew.

Something happened in that house that his mind was blocking out.

----

Yes. A pointless one-shot, but I might do a sequel!!!


End file.
